Today, I’m joining Donnell Bell at GetLostInAStory.blogspot.com to answer a few questions about my latest novel. Come join the conversation.

And while you’re there, answer a question for me. I’m asking readers this: What man/actor would you like to meet in an Irish bar and how would you convince him to remove his shirt? Can’t wait to hear from you.

In the meantime, here’s a quick peek into The Ex Lottery when Tory steps into a pub in Dublin:

SHANE SPOTTED HER THE INSTANT she stepped into the dark pub. ……

He smiled, a slow upward grin, and rose to claim her before the six men who had swiveled on their bar stools could beat him to it.

“Leanan sidhe,” Shane exhaled under his breath as he approached her.

Tory frowned. “No, it’s Tory.”

Amused, Shane pointed to the back of the bar, careful not to touch her this time. “I remember. My table’s in the corner.”

Tory hesitated, but Shane had already claimed her bag and was walking toward a dark table nestled in the back of the pub. She took in her surroundings, her eyes drawn to the massive, intricately carved bar. The wood was rich and dark, but the back wall was all mirrors. It reflected the endless rows of pure, clear glasses. The glass sparkled, spinning off images of transparent blue fairies flying in and out of a translucent sea. She took one step forward, but stopped when a voice from the right shouted at her.

“Yeo, girlie!” a patron shouted, wobbling on top of the farthest barstool. Her eyes shifted away from the magic to focus on the man with short red curls, freckles, and a neck thicker than her thigh. “Don’t be wasting your time on that sod. He’ll just break your wee little heart. Come have a pint of the Black Stuff with me.”

“Shut your gob, Neil. The girl’s not after finding a lad in his pints,” the bartender stated.

“I’m not after anyone,” Tory piped in, “just a decent meal.”

“Ahhh, B’Jaysis, and American too! Listen to that lovely drawl,” Neil sighed, and the room erupted in mirth and bawdy comments.

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